


Beyond Death Do Us Part - Part 1

by NimueOfTheNorth



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV), Highlander: The Series
Genre: Age Gap (there's an Immortal involved), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fighting Demons, M/M, Time Skips, emotional drama
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-27
Updated: 2019-02-27
Packaged: 2019-11-06 19:54:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17946086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NimueOfTheNorth/pseuds/NimueOfTheNorth
Summary: When Methos first meets Rupert Giles, he is still a boy but something catches Methos attention. He couldn't have dreamed of what might grow out of that in the decades to come as Rupert finds himself and the two cross paths again.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I had more planned but these two required many more words than I anticipated. Part 1 works as a completed story but the title will only fully make sense when I can post part 2.
> 
> There's nothing hinky before Rupert is firmly an adult.
> 
> Names might be a bit confusing in this one. Methos goes by Carl Gladwyn and Themistoklis Floros at different points.
> 
> I used the Buffy wiki to fill in some details I had forgotten and that included information from the comics, which I have never read myself. I picked and adapted what suited the story and am by no means sticking firmly to canon.

Big Thanks to DarkJediQueen for this beautiful banner!

 

**1966**

 

Methos was happily ensconced in the quiet of the empty library. The information available at the various locations of the Watcher Council was probably the thing he had missed most over the last decades, but he had to stay away long enough for William Lucas Courtenay to have faded from memory.

Currently, he was going by the name of Carl Gladwyn, doctor of religious studies and part-time lecturer at the University of Edinburgh - an all-around unremarkable bloke who was reasonably well-liked by his students and colleagues. He had, however, published a few noteworthy articles about the widespread similarities in concepts and imaginations of evil across multiple cultures. He'd dared some speculations about the inspirations behind those concepts that had garnered him disapproving looks from most colleagues, but they had gotten him the attention of the right people. Afterwards, he just had to ensure he bumped into said right people at a few conferences to eventually being offered the chance to research in the Watchers' archives and library.

The London branch had existed for so long in the same building that they had never managed to separate the Immortals division from the one for the occult and demonic activities as pretty much every other branch of decent size had done. The more the two divisions grew apart in their foci and approach to their subjects and work, the more this entanglement in London rubbed people on both sides the wrong way. Being Brits, they would have prefered very much if they could just avoid one another, but that was an impossibility.

For Methos, it was the most convenient arrangement imaginable.

Having been invited by the Watchers dealing with demons and the Slayers ensured that he was purposefully overlooked by those observing the Immortals. At the same time, he had all the freedom during his strolls down the long aisles of the archive to look up what old friends and enemies were up to and if there was anyone new to worry about.

The research he was officially there for was interesting as well. Not that Methos hadn't had his share of run-ins with everything from your neighbourhood vampire to some truly nightmarish demons people at all times deluded themselves they could handle for their own gain. But being in the thick of things or in the general vicinity didn't always give one the most rounded view, so reading meticulous research into the who, what and how centuries later was fascinating and put some things into a better perspective.

Today’s quiet was suddenly interrupted by the doors opening and closing again.

"Now, Rupert. Here is an introduction into the foundations and general principles of the Watcher Council. It will be a most beneficial read to prepare you for the Academy in summer. I'll come and collect you once my meeting is over." The man's voice sounded somewhat pompous, and he didn't wait for any reply to his order before his steps retreated and the door opened and closed again.

Methos pulled the last few tomes on his current reference list before heading back towards the small group of desks to find out who Rupert was. What he found was surprisingly a boy of maybe twelve years sitting across from the desk Methos had commandeered, staring down on the pages of a book morosely. He seemed awfully young to enter either branch of the Watcher’s Academy.

“Good afternoon,” Methos greeted as he set down his books.

“Oh, good afternoon,” the boy looked up startled.

Methos went back to his work though he was aware that Rupert was splitting his own focus between his assigned reading and surreptitiously glancing at him.

“Excuse me, sir,” he eventually asked, clearly taking all his courage together.

Methos finished writing down his current note before looking up. “Yes?”

“Are you a Watcher?”

“No, just a researcher and lecturer from Edinburgh who was given access to the archives and now had to adjust his world view rather dramatically. Dr Carl Gladwyn, at your service.”

“Oh.” The single sound carried a lot of disappointment. “My name is Rupert Giles, it’s nice to meet you. I had hoped… but nevermind.” The boy went back to his book, clearly unsatisfied.

“What had you hoped?”

“It’s just… Father told me two years ago that I would become a Watcher, that it didn’t matter that I wanted to become a fighter pilot.”

“Well, I’m no expert, but from what I know, you might have difficulties being accepted by the RAF wearing glasses.” Methos tried to make light of the matter to keep the boy talking.

“Yeah, I’ve learned that since as well. At the time I also thought I might like to be a grocer, though my family would find that terribly undignified. But it wouldn’t matter if I decided to study law or medicine, Father wants me to become a Watcher, to follow the family tradition. He says it’s our destiny and we have a sacrifice to make in the fight against the evil in this world and from other dimensions. Because somebody has to protect the innocent people who can’t fight for themselves.”

“And how do you feel about that? Would you still rather be a grocer?”

“Yes, actually. Or something else ordinary. I don’t really feel like much of a fighter, I’d rather be one of those innocents who get protected and don’t even know what’s going on. But that’s quite selfish and cowardly of me, isn’t it.” The last was said very softly.

“It’s human. As noble as it is to fight in the protection of others, I don’t think anyone can be blamed if they don’t feel up to that, especially at your age.” Methos could commiserate with Rupert’s plight to have his choices taken away from him and be confronted by an overwhelming fate. “Your father must be very determined if he’s sending you to the Academy already, despite your reservations. I overheard him when you came in.”

“I kinda did a thing.”

“Now, this sounds like a story worth hearing.” Methos put down his pen to give Rupert all his attention.

"My great aunts have magic, but they mostly use it to stay young and beautiful and enjoy their life. It's kinda fun, I guess. If you have such a gift, why not use it to your own benefit as long as you're not hurting anyone. But Father says it's frivolous and undignified. But I like them, they're fun to be around. They came to our home for an artefact Grandma and Father were guarding. A light demon had killed their lovers, and they needed it to bring them back. The demon attacked them while they were at our place and I accidentally used it to turn the demon into a solid form and like that my aunts could kill him. But everyone got super weird because this took a lot of magic they didn't think I should have. I don't know, it didn't feel like something super special, and I don't even remember what exactly I did. I'm just glad nobody in my family got hurt."

Methos was impressed. He’d come across enough magic users to know that a young boy affecting a demon like that when two experienced witches had failed was quite a feat. He couldn’t show that though, he was pretending to have no previous knowledge of magic.

“Sounds like a very lucky accident to me.”

Rupert answered with an unspecific hum and fiddled with the book he was supposed to read. "Father says the Academy will teach me control and that such a thing should never happen again."

“You sound doubtful.”

“I don’t know how he means things anymore and reading this doesn’t help.” He poked at the pages. “He keeps saying that it’s our duty as Watchers to sacrifice for the greater good. But it looks to me that the thing the Watchers sacrifice the most are Slayers.”

That had Methos sit up. He had his own opinions about the priorities of the Watcher Council, both branches. But that a boy Rupert’s age would come to that conclusion so quickly was unexpected. “That is quite the statement,” he said as neutrally as he could.

"Well, these girls get called upon when they are barely older than I am now. And they get all this responsibility for the fate of the world dumped onto their shoulders and send out to fight vampires and demons and whatnot. Special powers or not, how can you be ready for that before you even finished school? They aren't legally old enough to drive or drink alcohol but this, they're ready for? I know, I wouldn't be. And just seeing the average at which new Slayers are being called, barely any of them make it to adulthood. That doesn't sound like the Watchers are doing so good a job at preparing and supporting them. They're essentially sending them out there to die and hopefully take enough evil with them to make it somehow worth it. Sounds like a sacrifice to me."

"The system clearly isn't perfect, but things that involve ancient fates rarely are." Methos didn't want to stoke the fire he could already see in young Rupert too much, so he picked his words carefully. The boy would already have a hard time dealing with his family's expectations and the intellectual rigidity of the Academy without a stranger pouring oil on it.

"So I'm just meant to accept this because it's been this way for ages and become a part of it as I'm told?" The stubborn streak bleeding through in that sentence was a mile wide, and it made Methos curious about how Rupert would turn out as an adult.

"No. But you sound like you have a good head on your shoulders and can form your own opinions. Right now, you're young and don't have many options to make independent decisions. In such a position it is best to pick your battles wisely. But nobody can stop you from questioning the things you learn, in your own mind, if nothing else. And there will come the day when you can act on your own and follow your own morals. And by then you'll have gained much more knowledge, and your decisions will be better informed than they might be right now." Methos was satisfied that Rupert seemed to give his words some consideration. He was still deep in thought when the door opened again.

“I thought I told you to read the introduction book, not stare holes in the air and dream,” Mr Giles said harshly. “Or have you been bothering this gentleman?”

“What? Oh, no. Dr Gladwyn was very helpful in discussing some of the things I read with me. He didn’t mind, at least I don’t think so.” Rupert’s voice lost a lot of its certainty towards the end.

“Not at all,” Methos was quick to assure as he stood up and held out his hand. “Carl Gladwyn, pleasure to meet you, Mr Giles. Your son has rather a sharp mind. I wish I had more students like him in my classes.”

“Well, thank you,” the man said brusquely as he shook the outstretched hand with a firm grip. “Remember your place, Rupert, you can continue your reading at home. We have the title in the family library. We’re expected home for tea.”

Rupert carefully closed the book and put it back in its place in one of the shelves closest to the door. “Thank you for your time, Dr Gladwyn. I’ll keep what you said in mind.”

“Have a good day. And good luck with your studies,” Methos told him but only answered the curt nod from his father in kind.

He kept looking at the door in thought for a few more moments before going back to his research, but on his next trip through the shelves, he slipped into an aisle he had no business being in. The personnel files were just as orderly as everything else in the archive, and he had no problems locating the one he was interested in. He had long since perfected the art of sneaking a glance at paperwork without leaving anyone any the wiser about it so, in less than a minute, everything was back in its place and looking completely undisturbed.

Methos settled back in with his new stack of books and continued his work, but at the back of his mind his thoughts were occupied with young Rupert Giles, his suspicion about the boy's descent now confirmed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Methos is not impressed by 'Ripper'.

**1975**

 

Giles walked out of the house and blinked into the bright morning light. He looked at his watch in surprise as if the sun wasn’t proof enough that their little gathering had actually lasted the whole night. He had thoroughly lost track of time.

“Hey, Ripper! Fallen asleep on your feet?” Ethan bumped into his shoulder harder than necessary. The arse. “Are we still on for the pub tonight?”

"Sure, why not," Giles answered and pulled his fags from his pocket. The pack was almost empty, but he could get some more at the newsagent round the corner of is flat before he fell into bed. Now that the high from the magic they had done to entertain some bored people with more money than sense was wearing off, the exhaustion was catching up with him.

They all said their goodbyes and wandered off into whatever direction was home or an available bed.

Giles was halfway through his smoke when he passed by a narrow alleyway and found himself roughly dragged into it and slammed against the rough brick wall.

"Fuck! No need to be rough, I got nothing to offer anyway, so save us both the trouble, mate," he complained with a put upon air of nonchalance.

“Cut the crap, Rupert,” the man answered curtly. “Oh, sorry, you go by Ripper now, don’t you.”

The words were dripping with sarcasm, and something about it tickled Giles' memory. He tried to get a good look at the man in the gloom of the alley, and the face was familiar, even if he couldn't place it. The guy was certainly older than Giles by maybe ten years.

“How do you know me?”

"We've crossed paths before. You were much more pleasant company then. And what's with this disgusting habit?" He pulled the cigarette from Giles' mouth and tossed it aside.

“Hey!”

“I’m talking to you, not a cloud of smoke.”

“Maybe I don’t want to talk to you. You’re rather rude, you know.”

“That’s rich coming from someone dabbling in dark magic and conjuring demons for other people’s enjoyment. What were you thinking?!”

“Not. Here.” Giles hissed and looked around. The man had loosened his grip on Giles’ jacket and taken half a step back. “How do you know this much about what we do? Nevermind,” he looked up and down the alley to come up with a place where they could talk with less risk of being overheard. “Come on.”

Giles started walking, and the not quite stranger followed with no hesitation. He led him the way around the backs of the houses to an empty building that used to be a bakery. The backdoor and windows had long been smashed in by someone, and it made for a convenient hideout. He'd found it one night after an intense ritual they'd done for a client that had left him in serious need of getting himself back under control before running into people.

In the dusty sunlight that filled most of the former kitchen, Giles got his first proper look at the other man. He was slender, and his controlled movements spoke of strength and agility. His dark hair was on the shorter and somewhat unkempt side of what was currently fashionable. The face was all sharp, long lines with intelligent eyes that seemed to look right down to his very core. He remembered those eyes.

“You’re Dr Gladwyn. How did you find me?” Giles felt confused and spied upon. Then, something else caught his attention. “You haven’t aged.”

“Good genes.”

“No. If there’s one thing they drill into you at the Academy, it’s to look for people who do just age subtly versus those who truly do not age at all. You haven’t. But you’re standing in bright sunlight.”

“So what are you concluding, Sherlock?” Giles thought he might find the sarcasm amusing if it wasn’t directed at him.

"Well, you're clearly not a vampire, so that's a relief. Are you… But you were within the Watchers!"

“Am I what? Also, I was only there as a guest.”

“That’s semantics. You can’t be one of the Immortals, are you? They supposedly don’t know about the existence of the Watchers at all.”

“The Watchers aren’t nearly as inconspicuous as they like to think, especially not if you’ve been around long enough. But I’m glad that that sharp mind of yours hasn’t been completely fogged up by your stupid decisions lately. You got it right in one.”

"Wow." Giles slumped against a derelict work surface that sacked a little under his weight but held up. "I honestly never thought I'd met one of you guys. It's kind of mind-boggling. Hold on. Were you using the Watcher archives to track done other Immortals to take their heads?"

“Why do you care? You’ve decided not to join the Watchers. You’ve also decided not to become an Oxford graduate, which I think is much more of a shame.”

"Doesn't mean I like the thought of that kind academic I talked to as a kid getting himself an unfair advantage in a killing game." Giles was getting angry now, and he had no clue what to make of the smile that was playing around the corners of Gladwyn's mouth.

"I don't play the game if that unruffles your feathers. I think it's stupid and try to avoid it as much as I can."

“What?”

“But that’s not what we’re here for,” Gladwyn cut him off. “We’re here to discuss your poor life choice most recently.”

“I’m not justifying my decision to leave the Watchers to you. You have no idea what they did!” Giles’ confusion turned to anger again. He was too exhausted to deal with this emotional roller coaster.

“That’s not the decision I was talking about. I’m not exactly the Watchers’ biggest fan, though their archives come in handy. It’s everything else I have an issue with. But I’m also perfectly willing to listen to your reasons for leaving the Watchers if you want to get that off your chest.”

“Why do you even care? What are you doing here, popping back into the life of a kid you spend maybe half an hour chatting to in a library a decade ago?”

"I saw something in you that afternoon, and I decided to check up on you every so often." For once, there was no sarcasm or accusation in Gladwyn's tone.

“And what would that have been? My oh so immense potential?” Giles was sick and tired of hearing that.

“That was obviously there, yes. But I’ve seen a lot of potential in my time and was perfectly happy to not get involved. No, what I saw in you was empathy and compassion.”

Giles figured he looked as befuddled as he felt as Gladwyn went on to elaborate with a sigh.

"You were, what, twelve? And you read a few pages in the self-glorification the Council cooked up about themselves and immediately came to the conclusion that they were treating the Slayers like cannon fodder and that it wasn't fair. You saw these girls as individuals, showed the inclination and ability to put yourself into their place, and, more importantly, you cared about their fate. That's a rare trait and one this world needs. If it were run by sarcasm and cynicism from the likes of me, it would be a much sadder place indeed."

"You might want to tell the Council and Academy about that. They either thought me weak or rebellious for that very trait, depends on who you ask. Bastards. I'll gladly stay away from them."

“Probably the safer choice. But now you’re making me actually curious about what happened.”

Giles had tried so very much not to think about the events of the night throughout all that talk of the Watchers. The memories still made his blood boil with fury and pain, and sometimes that led to things getting out of control in dangerous ways. Well, at least he couldn't do any permanent harm to Gladwyn.

"You really want to know? Want to hear the latest depravity the Council committed, this time against their own people? Then here we go. There were reports, barely more than rumours about a vampire on Highgate cemetery. And the old buggers didn't want to get their shoes dirty, so they sent out five trainees to deal with it. Called it a character building exercise." He turned away from Gladwyn's piercing gaze and stared into the long since cold opening of the oven.

"It wasn't a vampire. It was a Lorophage demon if you ever had the dubious pleasure of meeting one. And now four people are dead. Somebody must have caught a clue somehow, or I would be dead, too. Father and another Watcher showed up just in time. Too late for the others. And I was supposed to be grateful and happily analyse how the situation could have been handled more successfully." His voice was dripping with sarcasm at the end, but he didn't care. He had no reason to disguise his level of contempt for the Watchers.

“I’m not saying you should be grateful towards the Council, they messed up big time. But you should count yourself lucky to be still alive. A Lorophage is no joke, and I am sorry for the loss of your friends and the way they died.”

Giles snorted. "Empty words. It's all empty words in the end. What good are they? I'm alive but everything I was pushed to work for is worthless, and the others are all dead. Charlotte's dead. She was…" He squeezed his eyes shut against the pain of things that had never been.

“She was what? Beautiful? Brilliant? Innocent? They always are, Rupert. They always are. It’s one of the saddest constants of life. But nothing gets any better by you destroying yourself.”

"Ah, there it is. I was wondering when the threatened admonishment about my life choices would start." He turned back to Gladwyn with a glare. "You don't even know me, so spare me the gospel. My life isn't any of your business." He pushed himself away from the work surface behind him and strolled past the meddling Immortal towards the door.

“What would Charlotte think about this?”

The words made him spin around again. “You really wanna go there? That’s low.”

“I know. But I’m also curious. What would your fellow Watchers-to-be say about the path you took in response to their sacrifice?”

“Don’t you dare!” Giles found himself staring down Gladwyn’s nose from way closer than he had been without being aware that he’d moved. “Don’t you glorify their deaths. They didn’t make a sacrifice, they _were_ sacrificed. And out of laziness at that. Leave them out of this. It’s bad enough that they were brainwashed into the whole doctrine. You do not get to use them to guilt me back into something I know to be fundamentally wrong.”

“Why do you still think that I want you in the Watchers? When did I ever say anything to that end?” Gladwyn stayed perfectly calm, neither stepping back from Giles nor pushing him away. “But no matter what they thought about the Watchers in their final moments or even now if there is any kind of afterlife, I can’t believe that they would support the evils of this world and other dimensions being left to roam free.”

“Implying that I should stick with the Watchers no matter how wrong I believe their actions to be.”

“No. Implying that you should do your best. The Watchers’ approach to dealing with the problem leaves much to be desired, and you’ve learned that first hand. But being unhappy with a solution to the problem doesn’t justify you becoming a part of the problem.”

“What?” Giles reared back as if he’d been slapped.

“What else do you call your little black magic business? You invite demons into this world, into your circle and even your body, Rupert. How is that not part of the problem?” He grabbed Giles wrist and pushed up his sleeve, revealing the tattoo there. “How is _this_ not part of the problem?”

“It’s just a bit of fun. We’ve got it under control. And it’s the best high you can get, better than sex.”

“Okay, first, Eyghon isn’t something you keep under control. You’re not the first to try, I’ve seen it before, and it never ended well. And secondly, if you think a demonic possession is better than sex, you’re doing sex wrong.”

Gladwyn let go of Giles' arm, and it flopped down at his side. He wasn't even sure he was following the conversation properly anymore, with the emotional turmoil and verbal curveballs.

"I'm in town for a few more days." Gladwyn stepped back into Giles' personal space and was holding up a business card that he flipped around to show the handwritten name and room number of his hotel on the backside. The closeness between them became uncomfortable for Giles, but he didn't feel he could get out of it without making the situation even more awkward. "Go home, get some sleep, and then use your head to get some perspective. And if you want to talk or want help or anything really, come and see me."

He reached around Giles and pushed the card into the back pocket of his jeans, making Giles wish he had put some distance between them. But there was also something strangely alluring about the aura of strength, certainty and ease the Immortal had around him. By the time Giles had shaken off the confusion of his contradictory feelings, Gladwyn, or whatever his real name was, was gone, and Giles felt about as wracked as the long-dead bakery around him looked.

 

* * *

 

 

He'd slept for shit, and his head was still swimming with all the things Gladwyn had thrown at him that morning and dragged up from the past. So Giles would have liked nothing better that evening than to stay at home, alone with his thoughts, but his cupboards were empty of proper food, and he knew all too well that if he didn't show up as promised, Ethan would come and invade his privacy, so he headed out anyway.

The pub was full and the crowd obnoxiously loud. From what Giles could make out from the drunken yells and singing, a favoured team had won a football match. If he had to follow a sport, he much preferred cricket. At least one could hold a cultured conversation during those matches. He spotted the others at their usual table and waved at them before getting himself a beer and ordering the shepherd’s pie at the bar.

“You look like death warmed over, Ripper,” Ethan greeted him kindly as ever. “Don’t you get sick on us!”

“What would it matter?” Giles asked as he slouched onto the bench in boredom.

“Need you for a job tomorrow night. Seems we got referred to someone who’s willing to pay up a nice sum for some entertainment.” Ethan had an excited gleam in his eyes and Giles didn’t think that was just about the money.

“That’s rather soon after last night, don’t you think. It isn’t like these rituals aren’t exhausting.”

“You sound like an old man saying that, Ripper,” Thomas teased. “What’s going on with you, mate? You’re usually more fun.”

"Just tired, is all. And exhaustion isn't a good basis for the more elaborate things we've been doing. It leads to sloppiness, and that leads straight into danger."

“Spoilsport. It isn’t like we can’t do it without you if little Ripper needs his beauty sleep.”

Giles was saved from answering immediately as his food was placed in front of him. “What exactly did this client ask for, Ethan? It must be something special if they’re willing to pay us as well as you’re saying.”

"It's a couple, and they want us to summon Eyghon to possess them."

Giles deeply regretted the bite he’d just taken as he almost choked on it. “What?!” He got out between bouts of coughing and reaching for his beer. “You want to summon Eyghon with total amateurs in the circle? Have you gone mad?!”

"Oh come on, don't be such a worrywart. Between you and me, we can easily control the demon, and the two are desperate for the ultimate high. There's easily two months worth of rent for all of us in it, and I might be able to wiggle a generous tip out of them after the fact as well." Which was Ethan's favourite euphemism for barely veiled extortion. Giles had never actually witnessed it, but he wasn't so naive as to believe that all that extra money Ethan got out of their clients was due to their generosity.

He took another healthy sip of beer to clear his throat. “I’m not so sure about our control over the demon. He’s been getting stronger each time we’ve summoned him and adding clueless people into the mix sounds like a recipe for disaster to me.”

“Hell, Ripper, you really are no fun today,” Ethan complained. “You need something more to drink.”

“I’ll get another round,” Philip offered and got up.

“Thanks, mate. And bring a scotch for Mr Boring here. Maybe that’ll revive his spirits.”

Giles wasn't about to refuse a decent scotch on somebody else's tab, but he'd make sure that it stayed only the one. This latest scheme of Ethan's was ridiculous, and he wanted no part of it, which inevitably meant he had to keep his wits about him. He'd seen Ethan trick others through alcohol and similar means, and he would never think he was exempt from such methods if it suited his friend's needs.

Ethan steered the conversation away from the plans for the following evening, and the group had a mostly enjoyable evening with most of them drinking quite a bit more than Giles and Ethan were doing.

With the football fans getting more and more boisterous, the whole group decided to leave earlier than usual.

“You guys wanna come round my place for a while? I still got some beer left,” Philip offered.

“Not for me, thanks. I’ll catch some shuteye.” Giles made his excuses.

“So, we’ll see you tomorrow night then,” Ethan poked.

"No, you won't." Giles made his voice as hard as he could. "It's a tremendously stupid and dangerous idea, and I want no part in it."

“Pfff,” Deirdre scoffed. “It isn’t like you are that important. We’ll just do it without you. Means more money for each of us and I can treat myself to a new winter coat before the weather gets chilly.”

The others nodded and murmured their agreement and Giles could only shake his head at them. That the idea of a few Pound notes could make his friends this reckless was a scary thought. But at the end of the day, no one in their little group but Ethan had any proper understanding of what powers they were playing with. They didn't have enough natural aptitude for magic to feel the struggle it took to keep the darkness they conjured under control. And he didn't think he could protect them from their own hubris.

As he watched them dismiss him by turning away and starting to talk amongst themselves, he only grabbed Ethan’s arm to hold him back a moment.

“You know it’s madness to try and control Eyghon basically on your own. Are you that blinded by money and power?”

“You’re a sissy, Rupert,” he said, his voice dripping with disdain. “I thought better of you.”

“It’s not cowardice to no your limits.”

“You’re underestimating the two of us. We’re much stronger than those creatures. Unless you’re too afraid and would rather hide under your blanket.”

“You’ll get somebody killed with that recklessness, and the others don’t know enough to see the danger. That’s murder!”

“Oh, don’t be such a drama queen, Ripper. Here,” He slapped a piece of paper with an address against Giles’ chest. “In case you change your mind and want to join the fun. And the gain.”

Ethan jogged to catch up with the others, and Giles was sorely tempted to leave the note where it fluttered to the ground. In the end, he picked it up anyway.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Giles' life gets turned on its head.

**Still 1975**

 

The wood he was staring at moved, and it took Giles a few times blinking his eyes to realise that the hotel room door had opened seemingly on its own accord. Which was nonsense, of course, as there was Gladwyn standing in the opening now.

“You might as well do your brooding in here before the other guests call the concierge about your lurking.” The man turned around and walked away, leaving the door open for Giles to follow.

But he stood still rooted to the spot. His eyes followed Gladwyn and took in his appearance. Despite the ungodly early hour of the morning - Giles wasn’t even sure what time it was, but it was still dark outside - the man was dressed in slacks and an impeccably ironed dress shirt. His only concession to the time and the fact that he was in the comfort of his hotel room seemed to be that he was barefoot, a fact that felt weirdly intimate and made Giles slightly uncomfortable.

“I mean it, Rupert, stop lurking about in the corridor and come inside. You can make up your mind about whatever brought you here in the first place while sitting on a chair just as well but without making people uncomfortable.”

Giles forced his feet to move forward and closed the door behind him without conscious thought. Gladwyn had settled in at the small desk and was working through some papers, taking notes as he went, so Giles dropped into the only other seat in the room, which was a very stylish but not very comfortable club chair. He was still mostly caught up in his thoughts, but the longer he sat there with his eyes on Gladwyn, the more they focused and the more his attention followed.

The man was concentrating on his work in a very relaxed way and entirely unperturbed by the presence of another person in the room with him. He looked like he was perfectly at ease with himself and the world and that infuriated Giles.

“He’s dead because of you. How can you sit there like you haven’t a worry in the world?” he eventually bit out.

“Who’s dead and how am I supposed to have contributed to this demise?” Gladwyn shot back and turned a page.

“Randall. Randall is dead because you talked me out of going where I was needed. It’s your fault for meddling where you were neither wanted nor needed.”

"I'm sorry to hear about the loss of your friend, but I didn't tell you to do anything beyond using your brain. That seems a bit vague for such specific a responsibility. May I ask how exactly he died?" The nonchalance of his tone riled up Giles even more, and he wanted to jump up and charge at the man, but he forced himself to stay in the chair.

"They summoned Eyghon to entertain some rich couple, but I wasn't there. The demon was too strong, and they lost control, Ethan lost control, and the demon took over Randall entirely. I guess we have to be grateful it was one of us and not a client. I don't want to imagine the mess that would come out of that. We'd probably all end up in jail."

“But you weren’t even there,” Gladwyn said innocently.

Giles snorted. “You don’t believe for a second that Ethan wouldn’t drag me down along with him, do you.” He let his gaze wander over to the window where the sky was showing the first tinge of dawn. “I was there, outside, at the next corner. I had a bad feeling about this and had hoped against better knowledge that they wouldn’t go through with it. I saw Randall escape, the others chasing after him. It was obvious what was going on with him if you know what to look for. That wasn’t Randall anymore, the demon had taken complete control.”

“Did you catch up with him? Did you manage to exorcise him or do we have to go demon hunting?”

“Are you sure you aren’t a Watcher? Your priorities sure sound like they’d fit right in.” Giles was feeling sick and wondered why he’d even thought to come here. He still hadn’t discarded the idea of punching Gladwyn, though.

"There's a difference between the matter most important and the matter most urgent. Preventing more possible deaths is both, but if you tell me that Eyghon is currently no danger to anyone on this plane, I'll gladly turn my attention to your emotional plights." At least Gladwyn had the decency to put down his pen and fully turn around to face Giles as he said this.

"The world is safe, for the moment. Whatever that means. We chased him into a dead end alley and tried a quick and dirty exorcism, but it didn't work. He had taken hold so much of Randall already, I doubt it would have worked if we'd managed to contain him somewhere and do it properly. So we did the only thing we could."

“You killed your friend.”

"Yes!" The easy acknowledgement reignited the fury in Giles. "Yes, we did. I did! I had to kill my friend, who had no real concept of the danger he was putting himself into time and again because he couldn't understand the scope. I killed my friend because I wasn't there when I was needed to keep control of the monster! Because you told me not to!" He had no idea when he had stood up or when Gladwyn had, but he found himself pressing the Immortal into the wall, breathing heavily, a sharp finger pointing at the man's face in accusation.

“Why weren’t you there?”

"Because of you!" Giles wanted to shake Gladwyn and bang him against the wall, but he was just about aware enough of where they were and held back.

“No, I have no power over you. I wasn’t even there to get in your way. Why weren’t you there?”

“Because you screwed with my head.”

“Why weren’t you there, Rupert? What made you decide that this night of all nights, you wouldn’t join in on the summoning, would let Ethan do it basically on his own. Why, Rupert?”

“Because it was stupid!” He came up short and stopped.

“Go on, lay it out. Why, Rupert?” They were still too close but Gladwyn wasn’t moving to change that and Giles could do with something physical to hold on to.

"Because it was dangerous and stupid. Eyghon is strong and had been getting stronger. It's one thing to handle him with a group that's somewhat experienced, but it's sheer madness to bring him into contact with the mind of newbies. And that's what I told the others. But they, of course, had to go and do it anyway, for the fun or for the money, I don't even know. It was bound to go wrong."

“Do you think it would have made a difference if you had been there? Could you have contained him?”

"No. I'm not sure." Giles slumped in on himself, one hand still against Gladwyn's shoulder. "The last few times I felt like Ethan, and I barely stayed in control, and this whole mixing in clients thing just looked like a volatile situation, a disaster waiting to happen. I'd hoped if I refused to participate, maybe the others wouldn't dare it either. I abandoned my friends." His knees went weak, and he ended up sitting on the edge of the bed.

“No, you didn’t. You warned them and kept yourself out of a dangerous situation. There’s nothing wrong with either. You still took some responsibility by being close by for emergencies, because you and I both know that you weren’t at that particular corner by accident. You are not responsible for the bad decisions of others, Rupert.”

“I still ended up having to kill my friend.”

“Yes, and that sucks, big time. There are no words that are adequate for something like this.”

"I feel lost." The admission came as a surprise to Giles himself, but he recognised the truth in it. "I don't think I could ever work with this circle again, I don't want to. I should probably stay away from magic entirely for a good long while. But what else is there?"

“Oh, Rupert, the world is full of things to do and experience. You have so many options available to you.”

"Is this the point where you encourage me to finish my degree or the one where you're telling me again that I'm doing sex wrong?" He tried to put some humour into his voice, but he knew it fell flat.

“That depends on what you need right now. I can also buy us flight tickets and show you the beauty of Japan this time of year.”

That made Giles snort. "Thanks, but no thanks. Though I guess you can probably afford it. Immortals must save up quite the nest egg over the years. How old are you anyway?"

“That’s a very personal question to ask.”

“I thought that only applied to women.”

“Nope, Immortals can be touchy on that as well. But you’re right that we have a tendency tomake sure we’re financially comfortable and I’m certainly old enough for that.”

“I guess that means your name isn’t really Carl Gladwyn either.”

“No, it isn’t. But neither is Ripper your name whereas Rupert is, and you clearly prefer one over the other.”

"Fair enough. I just hate how most people say Rupert. My father makes it sound like a permanent disappointment, and others like to pronounced extra posh to make it ridiculous. I just want to be me. And I don't mind it that much the way you say it."

“I’ll take that as permission then to keep calling you Rupert.”

Giles nodded at that, trying to find an answer to an earlier question. “I want to feel alive.”

“Okay. What do you think would do that for you?”

He shrugged. "Long term, probably finding something that has nothing to do with demons and Watchers and the past. They all have a lingering stench of death around them, and it feels like it clings to me all the time."

“And short term?”

“Are you that desperate to get laid?”

That made Gladwyn laugh out. "I have no issues finding a partner, trust me. But it really bugs me that you think a demonic possession beats sex on the feel-good factor."

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah. Okay. Show me. I mean, I’ve never done anything with a man, never even looked at one like that but… you’re different somehow. And if nothing else it should make me feel anything else than this numbness. So, I want to try. I feel like my whole life is changing right now so what’s one more thing.”

"That's probably the oddest approach to gay sex I've ever heard in all my years, and I'm not sure I'm comfortable with it."

Giles was about to let out a biting remark about cock teasing when Gladwyn held up a placating hand.

"But I'll give you what you're asking for. It's not like I'd consider it a hardship." He ran his eyes down and up again the full length of Giles' body in a manner he had never experienced. He thought it should make him uncomfortable, but instead, it made him tingle all over. "Under one condition," Gladwyn continued, waiting until he had Giles' full attention again. "You'll have to promise you'll tell me if anything makes you feel off, physically or emotionally. I don't need a running report unless you're a natural talker during sex, I don't mind. But the last thing you need right now is another crack in your core, and I refuse to be that, so I need you to communicate. Can you promise me that?"

“Aren’t you making a bit too much out of this? It’s just sex after all.”

“No, it isn’t _just_ sex. It's a completely different experience, and it touches onto the foundation of what you think you know about yourself. There's plenty of freakout potential, and there's no shame in that. But you've been raised to show the stiff upper lip on the best of days, and these are certainly not your best, so I want to be sure you're not throwing all self-preservation into the wind to prove something." The quiet intensity behind the words made Giles wonder what kind of encounters the Immortal had had over the decades and centuries he'd probably been alive.

“Okay, I promise I’ll tell you if I get uncomfortable with something,” he eventually said. If nothing else, the care the man was showing for his well-being was a new experience and took some of the nervousness that lingered under his numb indifference, anger and grief away.

“Good, thank you. Are you feeling comfortable like this?”

The question was very broad, but it made Giles think. "Ehm, I had kind of a strenuous night. Maybe I should grab a shower?"

"That's up to you. I intend on getting you sweaty again anyway. But it might give you another moment to wrap your head around all this. Bathroom is through there, towels are fresh, and you can use the robe on the door if you like." To Giles' huge surprise, Gladwyn finished his statement off by pressing his lips to Giles'. Their lips stayed closed, but the kiss didn't feel chaste at all, and it made his head spin. "You also might want to start thinking of me as Carl before you climb into bed with me. Calling me Dr Gladwyn during sex is a whole different kind of kink."

That broke a sheepish smile out of Giles. He had after all been calling his soon to be bed partner still by his last name in his head. “Okay, Carl. I’ll be only a few minutes.”

“Take your time. I have nowhere else to be.”

Giles kicked his boots off close to the door and vanished into the small ensuite bathroom. That alone was an indicator that Gladwyn, Carl wasn’t hurting for money as those were far from the norm yet. He looked into the mirror and was a little shocked by the haunted eyes staring back at him. He somehow hadn’t expected to see the effects of last night’s events quite so clearly on his face.

Deciding that hot water was usually helpful in such situations, he stripped of his clothes and piled them neatly on the corner of the vanity. There was one of the tiny bars of soap the hotel supplied still in its wrapper, so he took that and got under the shower, even before the water turned warm. The biting cold at first fit his emotions rather well but he tried to let go of these feelings as the temperature rose. He'd asked for something to change, he should at least try to change his state of mind as well.

Washing off the night both literally and figuratively felt amazing and he allowed himself more time than he normally would. The thought shot through his mind if there was anything specific he should do in preparation for gay sex, but he figured that Gladwyn would have probably said so and just went for a thorough wash.

After he’d dried off and wrapped the towel around his waist, he spotted the still wrapped complimentary toothbrush from the hotel and decided using that was always the polite thing to do. All necessities taken care off, he looked at the door and the robe hanging there.

The prospect of walking back into the bedroom was equal parts exhilarating and terrifying. The brash part of him wanted to leave the robe and walk out there naked, and the thought of Carl's reaction even made his cock twitch a little bit. But the reserved part won out like it usually did, and he wrapped the robe around himself. Taking one deep breath he reached for the doorknob, pushing the terrified feeling aside because all things worth doing were at least a little terrifying, as long as it was the good kind of terrifying.

The smell of bacon and tea hit his nose and brought him up short.

“I thought we could do with some breakfast,” Carl said with a grin. “You’ve been running around all night, I woke up way too early… so food and tea seemed appropriate.”

"Ehm…" Giles didn't know what to say, but his stomach spoke for him. "Thank you." He settled into the club chair Carl had pulled over to the desk, making sure not to let the robe pull open too far. It was only when the hand pouring him tea didn't have a cuff at the top that he registered that Carl had changed into pyjama bottoms.

“Why did you get changed?”

"I contemplated just stripping naked, but that was before I ordered us breakfast. I figured it couldn't hurt to take the formality away but still giving us each a bit of coverage until we get comfortable. Too much? Or are you eager to get to skin?" His voice became teasing at the end, and it put Giles more at ease. He hadn't even noticed that he had felt managed in a way up until now and this felt more on equal ground, even if his soon to be lover would forever have more experience than him.

"I think I like this," was all Giles answered before taking a sip of excellent Earl Grey.

They both started in on their food and Carl started up inconsequential small talk about the newest trends in music and fashion and how he felt about the quicker and quicker turnabout of trends. Giles found it surprisingly easy to chat with the Immortal now that they ignored the serious topics.

The longer they talked and ate, the more he noticed Carl's appreciative looks and allowed his own eyes to roam. The man was slender and athletic with a well-defined chest and strong arms and hands. The broad shoulders reminded Giles of swimmers, and his mind happily provided pictures of Carl pushing himself out of a swimming pool with the water running over his pale skin in droplets. He thought it looked mesmerising.

When a hand touched his, he was startled out of his fantasy and felt his cheeks heat up as he realised his body's reaction to his little daydream.

“Where did you go?”

“I’d rather not say.”

“Oh, but seeing what effect it had on you, I think I very much want to know,” Carl cajoled as he got up and pulled Giles along the few steps to the bed, where he sat down but left Giles standing.

Giles swallowed heavily at the look of the object of his fantasy spreading his leg just enough to pull him forward and between them. His mind was all too happy to supply him with a mental image of what this would be the perfect position for, and it did nothing to stop the growing tent in the robe.

“Hmmm, looks like you have even more to tell me about.” Carl’s hands were slowly running up and around Giles’ thighs. It was just light enough to feel amazing and not at all as if he was being trapped. “Come on, tell me. Please?” And damn, those dark eyes that could be so hard and penetrating could also plead like a puppy’s.

"I… At first I imagined you coming out of a pool, pushing yourself up at the edge with the water running down your body."

“And that image had appeal?”

“Yes.” He ended the word on a hiss as fingers ran along the line where his thigh met his butt.

"I do like to swim. What was the second thought?" The tantalising fingers wandered down his legs again and started their ascent all over, this time pushing the fabric of the robe up as they went, making Giles' heartbeat quicken.

“I couldn’t help noticing-” He cut himself off not sure how to say this. This wasn’t something he ever talked about, with nobody.

"What did you notice? There's nothing to be ashamed about here." Carl's voice sounded so matter of fact, and his eyes never faltered that Giles found his courage.

“What this position would be perfect for.” It was hardly explicit but the most he could get out.

“Hmmm, I do have you in a rather convenient spot, don’t I? And would you like that? Would you like it when I took your prick in my mouth and sucked you off?” The way Carl licked his lips, Giles got the feeling that the man would enjoy that.

“Ye-es,” he stammered out. “I think I would.”

“I rarely find a man who doesn’t. Why are you hesitating?”

“I’ve never had it done to me?” He hated how high his voice went at the end.

“Now that’s just a shame and needs to be rectified. May I?” Carl asked as he reached for the belt protecting the last shreds of Giles’ modesty.

“Yes.”

With one nimble hand, Carl undid the knot to let the robe fall open while the other as still caressing the bottom of his butt cheek distractingly.

“Just let me take care of you,” was all Carl said before he took the head of Giles’ cock into his mouth.

It was a feeling like no other, warm and wet and wonderful. A groan broke free from Giles, and he just about stopped himself from thrusting forward into that feeling. He figured that would be considered bad form.

It got even better when Carl used his tongue to play. He hit one particular spot, and Giles' world went white as his legs buckled and he barely managed to remain standing.

"Oh, God!"

“Shhh, how about you lay down before you fall over.” Carl scooted aside to allow him easier access to the mattress and Giles couldn’t argue with it. He let the robe slide down from his shoulders before he clumsily kneeled up on the bed and dropped himself in the general direction of the pillows.

Carl didn’t give his brain a chance to start thinking again as he crawled between Giles’ legs that had dropped open and went right back to where he had left off. Giles resolved to just feel. This was too good to fight any of it or mess it up by trying to take a more active role. The playing with the tip of his cock continued for a few minutes before Carl started to take it deeper and deeper into his mouth until the seductive warmth enveloped Giles entirely.

He couldn't remember moving his hand from the bed, but his fingers ended up buried in Carl's soft locks. Giles' eyes had fallen closed, and the moment he opened them to get a good look of this, he almost came, so he closed them again, not wanting this to end sooner than it had to.

Even despite his best efforts, it didn't take long anyway. Carl seemed to take his cock impossibly deeper, and there was a new feeling of constriction around it, and that was all it took for Giles to come with a sharp shout.

He was dazed and feeling high when he managed to focus his eyes down his body, meeting the slightly smug smile on Carl’s face. He couldn’t find it in himself to be mad about it.

“I’d say we found something you enjoy.”

“Yeah.” He gently pulled on the hair still between his fingers until the man followed his pull all the way up to where their lips were close to touching. “Can I kiss you or is there some sort of unwritten rule against that?”

“You can do pretty much anything you want, Rupert.”

He closed the small gap in an instant, pressing their lips together and seeking entrance with his tongue. Carl's lips opened willingly, and behind them, he found a weird taste. Realisation hit him about it being his own release that the man had swallowed just moments before and even though it might not be his new favourite taste in the world, the thought of that was exciting.

They were still kissing fervently when a hand snuck between his legs and a finger coated with something slippery started to tease around his hole. Startled, he tensed up and broke the kiss.

“Shhh, you can tell me to stop at any point. But you wanted to experience something different, I believe, so I’m offering you the whole program. This is better the more relaxed you are so right after an orgasm is the perfect timing. Just give it a try.”

Giles nodded and took a few deep breaths to calm down and relax his muscles. It was ridiculous how much he trusted Carl Gladwyn or whatever his real name was. The lips returned to his for a moment before starting to randomly kiss and lick everywhere from his collarbones to his earlobes. The finger resumed its stroking and soon pushed into his loosening hole every now and then.

It was an odd feeling but not unpleasant. Giles adjusted to it as the finger went in deeper with tiny thrusts and spread his legs a little more to make more room.

Carl’s mouth went further down his body and found his nipples. Giles arched up from the bed at the sensation.

“What the fuck?!”

“Ts, ts, ts. Language, Rupert. Never had your nipples played with before?”

“No. I always thought that was just enjoyable for women.”

"What are they teaching you kids these days? Nevermind." He went back to licking and sucking Giles' nipples in turns, and Giles became a writhing, moaning mess on the bed.

The finger left his hole, and he was about to complain when the sharp edge of teeth slightly biting his nipple distracted him, and then two fingers began pushing into him. The stretch was much more noticeable, and there was a slight burning to it, but it was easier to give into it as well.

“How does this feel?”

“Stretched, full, burns a bit,” Giles managed to cobble together.

“A slight burning is okay, but this should never ever hurt, so don’t ignore it if your body tells you it’s had enough.”

"Okay. But it's already mostly gone. I want…" He trailed off unsure of what exactly he wanted. He experimentally squeezed his muscles around the fingers, and that felt good, but more excitingly, it made Carl groan and drop his head down on Giles' chest.

The fingers started to move in and out again, and Giles urged Carl up again to where he could kiss him some more. Emboldened by the experience so far, Giles let his hands roam over the broad back and strong upper arms of his lover. It was a very different feeling to the female partners he'd had before. But everything was different about this, and it felt damn good. He dug his fingers in and let his nails scratch the skin lightly, something he'd never dared before, and it earned him a moan.

Carl added a third finger and Giles started to really enjoy the fresh feeling of stretch and more fullness. It was still odd but arousing. His erection had returned and was getting a little friction between their bodies, not enough to really do much, but it was another flavour added to this cocktail of sensations he was experiencing.

Then suddenly, Carl's fingers curled a little to put pressure on an area, and Giles felt like a current was running through him. It made him arch almost off the bed.

“What?! Do that again!”

Carl chuckled and settled his weight a bit more on Giles' chest. "That, dear Rupert, is your prostate. You're welcome." He brushed the area again, and Giles closed his eyes with the most obscene groan. He had never felt anything like it.

Giles felt his arousal building inside of him fast, and it felt wrong, incomplete. Without much thought, he started to grab Carl's arse and finding it still covered by his PJ bottoms, began to pull on them to get them out of the way.

Carl's lips broke away from his with a laugh. "Eager now, are you." But he got his free hand between them somehow to undo the drawstring, and the offending fabric finally started to move out of the way.

"If you want to fuck me, you have to do it now, or I'll be done. And I'd rather you fuck me with your cock than your fingers, to be honest." Giles didn't know where these words were coming from so easily, but he didn't care either.

“It’s certainly more fun for me, so no complaints.” Carl pulled his hand free and wiggled out of the PJs before coming to kneel between Giles’ legs that he eagerly spread. “How do you want this? Most find hands and knees easier for their first time.”

"I'd rather do it like this if that works. I'd like to see you." Giles bit his lip. He wasn't used to going into situations without knowing the essential information.

“Whatever you want, you can always change your mind later.” He pulled a small pillow from the corner of the bed and made Giles lift up to push it under his hips, then reached for a jar of vaseline and started coating his cock with it.

It drew Giles' full attention to the prick for the first time. He wasn't sure what he'd expected, but it didn't look that different from his own, maybe a little longer and thicker. There had been plenty of opportunities to see other boys pricks over the years in communal showers and changing rooms, but those were normally flaccid, and even if another boy had sported an erection, he had looked away. Because it had felt like invading their privacy somehow and also because it was considered gay. And now, here he was, naked and erect in bed with another man eagerly awaiting said man's prick to be pushed into his arse. He figured he could get an identity crisis later after he'd been fucked.

He reached out and helped spread the cream over Carl's cock as a poorly veiled excuse to just touch and get a feel for it. It felt hot and heavy but also smooth with the help of the cream. He added a little more pressure to his touch, and Carl's breath hitched.

“Sorry.”

“No, it’s fine. But sucking you off and then playing with your hole so long hasn’t exactly left me unaffected. So you might not want to do that too much if you still want me to fuck you.”

“Yeah, let’s do that.” He laid back down on his back.

Carl gathered one of his legs up over one arm before he guided his cock against Giles' hole. The pressure was different, blunter and just more, but Giles made an effort to relax and on his next exhale, it slipped in. He was glad that Carl took it slowly and let him adjust to the new feeling inch by inch. At some point, his other leg was picked up, and both were put up on Carl's shoulders. He'd probably feel incredibly awkward if his whole focus wasn't centred around his arse and the increasing feeling of stretch and fullness and amazing.

When Carl's hips pressed into his arse, and he knew that was as far as it could be, Giles surprised himself.

“More.”

“That’s certainly an encouraging response,” Carl snorted. “So, you’re feeling good?”

“Yes. Please, I want more. Do something!”

"As you wish." And with that, he started moving. It was only a slow rocking at first, but it soon started to build to steady and deep thrusts.

Giles grabbed Carl's neck and pulled him down for more kissing, wanting their tongues as entangled as their lower bodies. It bent him almost in half and changed the angle of penetration, pressing Carl's cock into his prostate.

“Oh God, that’s perfect, just like this, don’t stop. Please!”

“I won’t.”

It didn't take much more, between the thrusts hitting his prostate and his cock getting just enough friction between their stomachs, Giles' climax rushed through him in no time at all. He felt Carl stiffen above him and his cock jerk in his arse, but that was all before the world whitened out before his eyes.

When he came to again, feeling sore and groggy and floating on clouds, Carl was drying him off with a towel before laying down beside him, his head propped up on one hand.

“How are you feeling?”

Giles had to think about that simple question for a moment. “Sated. A little sore. Good. I keep thinking that I should be freaking out but I ain’t. Is that odd?”

"No. You've studied history. You must know that there has been homosexuality at all times, sometimes more accepted, sometimes less. It's just a fact of life, but one that is often forcefully pushed into the dark corners, for no good reason. You're still young, and there's much you'll still learn about yourself in years to come. This was just one discovery. But I'm glad you don't feel uncomfortable about what we did."

Giles just hummed in answer and let Carl’s words sink in for a moment. “You were right about one thing.”

“Pray tell?”

“This was better than being possessed by a demon. Maybe not a better high, but more fun and less worrisome.”

Carl snorted in amusement. "That's pretty good for a chance encounter and your first time of anal sex. As cheesy as it sounds, but it does get better when emotions are involved."

Giles nodded but interrupted himself with a big yawn.

"Take a nap. I have some more paperwork to do and nowhere to be for the next few hours, so no reason for you to hurry out the door." Carl pressed a kiss against Giles' forehead that felt weirdly more intimate than everything they'd done before.

Giles wanted to watch the enigmatic man for a bit but couldn’t fight off the sleepiness and soon dozed off.

When he awoke again, he was rolled onto his side and had a perfect view of Carl at the small desk, highly concentrated and hunched over his books and notes. Giles felt comfortable in a way he hadn't in a long time, and it wasn't just the warmth of the blanket and the softness of the mattress.

Carl Gladwyn, or whatever his real name was, projected an air of calm and security that Giles hadn't known he craved. He knew enough about the lives of most Immortals to know that Carl could easily kill him and that there was undoubtedly a sword hidden somewhere in the room. But that danger only added a touch of excitement to the man who appeared to be the consummate, boring academic to the world around him. There were so many layers to him, and Giles was intrigued, just as much as by the fact that the Immortal seemed to care about him for some reason.

He realised that he hadn't felt like anyone cared for him beyond what function he could fulfil for them, neither his father, nor his teachers, nor the friends from his circle. Many would say that Carl had used Giles for the kick of getting his rocks off and popping his cherry. But Giles considered himself a good judge of character and that wasn't at all what this encounter had felt like.

“Good morning, sleeping beauty,” startled Giles out of his thoughts.

“More like good afternoon, judging by the sun.” He stretched under the blanket and winced as his body reminded him of their earlier activities.

“You still doing okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. A bit achy, but definitely fine. Thanks for letting me sleep.”

"You needed it after the night you've had." He got up from his chair and instead settled down on the edge of the bed right beside Giles' hip, leaning over slightly and bracketing Giles' body with his hands. "I have a dinner meeting in two hours, and then I'll be taking the night train up north again."

“Oh.” Giles wasn’t sure what he had expected, he hadn’t thought this was the beginning of some happily ever after. But that the man who had shaken loose most of his life in the span of two days would be leaving the same evening, was a bit of a shock. “I guess I better get out of your hair then.”

"That's not how I meant that." He ran a gentle finger along the outline of Giles' face. "But I can't change the facts, and I have commitments in Edinburgh tomorrow."

“I understand. Will I -” He hesitated but felt like he owed it himself to at least ask. “Will I see you again?”

"Who knows, I for one haven't lost my interest in you, Rupert Giles. But be prepared that the next time we'll meet, I'll likely have a different name. Carl Gladwyn has been around a little longer than is strictly advisable and others are starting to notice the lack of ageing as well."

“Will you fake your death?”

“I prefer to just vanish into the great blue yonder, less drama means less attention if you're doing it right.” Carl bent down all the way and pressed their lips together in what soon became a passionate kiss, thoroughly succeeding in distracting Giles from any further questions. “One for you to remember me by.”

“I would assume that you needed the reminder more. I can’t even imagine how many people you’ve encountered over the centuries.”

“Some people are completely nonconsequential, no matter what they try to do, and others are remarkable without making an effort. I think you fit the second category better.” There was a teasing smile on Carl’s lips that made Rupert blush. “Come on, get dressed. Before I do more naughty things to you that make me miss my appointment.”

The moment was broken, and Giles had no idea how to capture it again. He made a quick trip to the bathroom to freshen up and put on his clothes again and then found himself awkwardly standing in the hotel room.

“I… Thank you. For everything. As messed up as all of this is, I think you gave me some important things to think about.”

"You're welcome. It isn't my part to tell you what to do, but you do have a lot of potential, and more importantly, you're a good guy at your core. Don't pick a path that'll make you hate yourself later in life, I've been there, and I wouldn't advise it."

“What-?”

"It was a long time ago," Carl interrupted him. "Lots of water under the bridge. Make good choices and enjoy your life. It's all any of us can try for." He gave Giles a lingering but almost chaste kiss and guided him towards the door. "So long, Rupert Giles. Until we meet again."

And with that Giles found himself staring at the hotel room door again, feeling very differently than hours before.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new meeting on a more even playing field.

**1983**

 

Methos sorted his notes on the lectern and let his eyes wander over the audience slowly gathering in the small hall. He hadn’t made much of a name for himself this time around and stuck too very niche interests, so it wasn’t surprising that he wasn’t one of the main attractions of the conference. He liked it that way.

When a familiar face walked through the door, he was pleased and made sure to meet Rupert's eyes. The reaction was one of surprise but not displeasure, which had Methos relieved. He'd seen Rupert's name on the program whereas the younger man had had no idea what name he was currently using until just now. It had made him hesitate for a moment when the invitation to fill in for another colleague who'd fallen ill had come, but in the end, he had wanted to see Rupert again and thought such a public setting in which they could both hide behind professionalism was probably a safe option.

Methos wasn’t at all sure what Rupert thought of him after their last meeting. Being a factor in turning someone’s life on its head and then vanishing into the night wasn’t the finest behaviour, but Rupert had to make his own decisions and had Methos stayed, he could have easily become a resented crutch along that way. He had kept track of the younger man just like before, using academic gossip and his occasional access to files to know the basics. He’d been glad to see that Rupert had eventually returned to Oxford to finish his degree but didn’t know where he was currently working.

“Ladies and Gentlemen,” a young man drew the attention of the small crowd. He was one of the graduate students involved in the organisation of the conference and had been sent to help Methos set up. “Allow me to announce Dr Themistoklis Floros, currently working at the South-Asia Institute in Heidelberg. We are delighted to have him here today and are very grateful that he agreed on short notice to present us first results from his current research into local varieties in early Indian religious art. Please give him a warm welcome.”

The room reacted with polite applause as Methos took his place. He spoke for 45 minutes and made sure to make them reasonably interesting and only having the curtains drawn to show slides illustrating his points for about a third of that time. The surest way to make your audience fall asleep was shrouding them in darkness and boredom just before tea time. The strategy worked and the remaining quarter of his allotted hour was filled with interested questions. None of which came from Rupert though.

They broke for tea, and nobody stayed around to pester him with further questions, so he just packed up his notes and went to find some finger sandwiches and a cuppa. There were reasons he loved conferences in Britain.

He was just finishing a bit of small talk with colleagues from France when he heard a familiar voice behind him.

“I hadn’t expected to see you here, Themistoklis.”

He turned around with a smile. “The invitation came very last minute. It’s been too long, Rupert.”

"Yes, it has." The answering smile that stretched over his lips at that was genuine and put Methos at ease. He absentmindedly said his goodbyes to the French and followed Rupert to the refreshments table where they both got some more tea.

“So,” the younger man broke the silence when they found an unoccupied corner, “it’s Themistoklis now, is it. Wasn’t he a general at Marathon?”

Methos winked at him. “Ah, fond memories.”

That made Rupert’s brows climb up his forehead. “You call the Persian wars fond memories? I’d hate to hear about your bad times.”

Methos shrugged. "As far as wars go, they were quite interesting ones." He could see the intrigue in Rupert's eyes, probably filing away the factoid about his age but he wouldn't have said it if he cared. Rupert was no longer little more than a kid that was still finding its way, and he wanted to even out their relationship if he could. How far he would take that, he wasn't sure yet.

“What is going on in your life right now? I’ve lost track a bit after you finished your degree. Congratulations, by the way. I read your thesis with great interest.”

“You did?” Rupert asked with pleased surprise. “Well, thank you. The world of punk rock didn’t turn out to be my natural habitat after all,” he added sheepishly. “I am more at home among my books. And I did end up following the family tradition.”

That shocked Methos. “Really? I didn’t see that coming. I hope you joined for your own reasons and not because you got pressured by your family.”

"Well…" Rupert made a so-so gesture with his hand. "I ran into my grandmother one day, and she gave me a new perspective. The research for my thesis had already reawoken the wish to help protect our world, but after everything that had happened, I didn't feel worthy of that honour anymore."

Methos snorted in disbelieve. “You’re still ten times the person most of the Council members are especially because you faced your personal demons.”

“My grandmother said something similar. In her ever formidable ways, she asked me who I thought was better suited to prepare and support a Slayer, an aged paper pusher like most Watchers are or someone like me who has seen something of the fight and is young enough to understand their troubles.”

“I like your grandmother already.”

“Yes, she’s quite the character.” He sipped his tea deep in thought.

“Something not working out?”

“I’m not sure her intention will ever come to fruition as I am constantly being told that I will never be charged with training a Slayer or even a potential one.”

“Why ever not?”

"Because I'm not quiet about all the things I think are wrong with the Watchers and how we treat the Slayers. You can take the man out of the punk rock band, but you can't take the rebel out of the man." There was a glint in Rupert's eyes that reminded Methos of his younger days, and he was glad it hadn't been crushed.

“You can still do a lot of good work and who knows? All things change with time.”

“I’ll take your word for it. But enough of me. What exciting thing is going on in the life of Themistoklis Floros these days?”

“Nothing much, thankfully. I’ve found academia comfortable to hide in and figured I hadn’t dabbled in art history for more than a century. Right now, I’m mostly busy preparing for my part in an expedition to India later this year.”

“Oh? Pray tell! What are you looking for?”

“I talked myself into the team when I heard what they were looking for because there’s a lot of trouble looming if they succeed. Actually, if the Council is keeping you busy with mostly research, having somebody with your talents among us would be a good idea.”

"That sounds ominous, and maybe we should discuss the details in a more private setting. Maybe over dinner?"

“I would like that,” Methos said with a soft smile and Rupert’s body language told him everything he needed to know.

The bell rang to announce the last set of lectures for the day, and they finished their tea and headed for one of the main events most people were attending for but found themselves seats towards the back where they had more privacy.

 

* * *

 

 

Dinner had been fun especially as they had kept their conversation to easy matters like hotly debating and taking apart some of the theories and presentations they'd heard at the conference. Methos didn't often have partners he could really stretch his mind with, at least not people he didn't have to hide his first-hand insights from. Other Immortals weren't exactly better, either because they didn't really bother with academia or because they were too stuck on their personal impressions and memories of the time and couldn't accept that being in the middle of things didn't always give you the best overview.

They had taken a stroll through the mild evening and ended up in front of a typical London townhouse.

“Ehm, I hope you don’t mind,” Rupert said suddenly shy. “This is the family home. Nobody is in town right now, so this is where I’m staying for the time being, and I figured it would give us the privacy we need.”

Methos just waved at the door. “Good thinking.”

Rupert led him upstairs in silence, away from the public rooms of the ground floor and into a suite of rooms that immediately felt private to Methos. "Your personal rooms?"

“Yes.” Rupert appeared nervous.

“Thank you for inviting me here,” Methos said in an attempt to alleviate Rupert’s nerves and show that he understood the gesture for what it was.

“Can I get you a drink? I only have scotch up here but-”

“I’d love a scotch, thank you.”

Methos followed Rupert’s handwave and settled onto the small sofa by the fireplace and waited until he joined him with the drinks.

“You know that there are no expectations here, right? We agreed to talk about my expedition and why I think you’d make a good addition. This doesn’t have to be any more personal.”

“I know, but it somehow is.” Rupert took a sip of his drink. “Let’s talk about India first and us later, shall we?”

Methos nodded his agreement, filing away the _us_ and it’s possible implications.

“The goal of the expedition is to find the Temple of Djinasaam.”

"I know that I've read that name somewhere before, but I don't remember any details."

"The legends have it that back in the 7th century, a temple like no other was built in honour of a god named Djinasaam. But the people who built it left the area soon after and the temple was lost to the jungle. Nobody has ever found it, and as it doesn't seem to tie into any other strand of religion on the Indian subcontinent, it's always been of huge fascination. One of my colleagues came across an old travel diary from the 18th century that mentions a temple structure that doesn't fit into any of the known traditions. The diary gives reasonably well descriptions of the route taken, and the hopes are high that it is indeed the Temple of Djinasaam. And from everything I've read, it is indeed."

“You’ve seen the temple before, then?”

“I was there when it was built.”

“Wow. What worries you about this find? I’m assuming there is some form of demonic or magical presence involved if you want me to join you.”

"You'd be correct." Methos sipped his drink to order his thoughts. "What legend got wrong is that Djinasaam is not a god, that's why he doesn't fit into the Indian pantheon at all. He was a hero, a human with some magical talent, not like your concept of a warlock but more like a conduit. He was also brave and, and when his people were attacked by a demon, he used his power to fight it. But there was only so much he could do to hold it back on his own, so he devised a plan. Using his knowledge of powerful stones and symbols, he urged his people to construct a structure where the demon emerged, and integrate some fairly substantial gems into it. He then placed himself at the centre to fight back the demon and lock it away for good upon its next emergence.

"Djinasaam died in the process, burned out by the magic he channelled, but he succeeded, and his people were saved. They added to the structure after the fact, made it a proper temple in his honour and to protect the original seal they'd constructed. It was still brimming with energy years later, and that had a weird influence on the plants and animals in the surrounding area, which is why they eventually left. I was in the area about a century or so later and checked out of curiosity. Nature had mostly claimed the temple back, but it was still standing strong under the plants, and I could still feel the protective magic in it. I worry what modern curiosity might unleash."

Rupert was quiet for a moment. “You never said what kind of demon it was.”

"Because I don't know. The tales of the villagers were wild and exaggerated by their bone-deep fear. Djinasaam only ever called it the dark hunger, as that was what it felt like to him. I never laid eyes on it myself, so I can't tell you any more. But whatever it is, it terrorised a number of surrounding villages for years and has only been held in check for all this time. I visited India again with the East India Company, and while I didn't go near the area, I happened upon a hunter who had wandered that part of the jungle once. He spoke of nature being out of balance, hurt and protective at the same time, of an area that felt empty like he had never encountered anywhere else. I don't think the demon has been defeated, it's still lingering, and I can only guess on the danger it could pose if the expedition does something stupid, like move the focus stones."

"Which they are wont to do because that's how we work," Rupert murmured in agreement. "And you think that I could stop whatever might break free from that temple? All on my own?"

"You would have me around as well. Immortals all have an ability to channel magic, though very few acknowledge that. We reduce it down to quickenings and our ability to sense one another and stick our head in the sand on all other accounts. I have no active magical talent, but you can throw me in the middle of things, and I'm highly unlikely to die in the process."

"Highly unlikely doesn't sound reassuring enough for me," Rupert said frustrated and ran his hand through his hair. "Can you draw the initial seal for me? The whole layout, which gems were used where, any symbols? And anything else you might remember, however unreliable the reports might have seemed. Maybe I can narrow down the possible candidates that way, and we can go into the situation a little better prepared."

“So, does that mean you’re going to join us?” Methos asked hopefully.

“I agree with you that it would be beneficial to have someone along who knows demons and how to fight them. That doesn’t mean I can convince the Council of such a need. Especially as it will be difficult to convince them based on the established legends around the temple. We can’t just throw in your extra knowledge out of the blue.”

“I might have an idea for that.”

“Oh?”

"I left a written report of what happened back in the 7th century anonymously in a monastery I came across a few years later. Their library was eventually absorbed into the central archives of the order which are now in France. I happen to know the archivist and can have him retrieve that report for me. He has a reputation for making impossible finds so nobody will be unduly sceptical. I'll ask the new and brilliant friend I made on the conference today for his opinion of this newest find, and you can take it to the Council, asking to join us to catch any possible problem before it gets ugly. Getting you into the expedition won't be a big problem, especially if you join on behalf of the Council and on their dime. If they are willing to let you go but not pay for it, I'll foot the bill, and nobody will be the wiser."

“You really thought this through and want me on this expedition,” Rupert mused.

"Yes. This has the potential to turn into a huge clusterfuck with lots of innocent victims, and you are uniquely qualified to prevent that. And I might have some purely selfish reasons as well," he added, carefully testing the waters.

"Have we reached the part of the evening were we talk about us already?" Rupert tried to sound flippant, but Methos could hear the trace of insecurity underneath.

“Only if you want to. We don’t have to pick anything up from eight years ago. I’d be perfectly happy to have you around for professional reasons… and maybe as a friend.”

Rupert let out a deep breath. “Let me sort out your little problem in India first, see if I can find us some pointers what we’re dealing with and convince the Council to let me join you. Preventing a huge mess that would require them to travel into a subtropical jungle should be a strong enough incentive.” He finished his drink in one go. “The last time I met you, my life turned into quite the mess. _I_ was quite the mess.”

“Should I apologise?”

"No," Rupert snorted. "There's only one aspect you were really responsible for, and I'm not at all mad about that eye-opener."

“I’m glad to hear that. Had some fun in your wild and misspent youth?” he teased.

“You could say that. It was certainly easier to get off with a guy when you know what to look for rather than impress the girls when you are a closeted nerd underneath your leather jacket.”

Methos laughed out loud. “That’s certainly one way of looking at it.”

Rupert chuckled. “With a bit more experimentation I found that I enjoy sex with either gender, depending on my mood. Can’t say it was as good as with you but it sure was enjoyable.”

“Way to stroke a guys ego, there.”

Rupert waved him off. “I figure your ego is pretty healthy. Speaking off, were you playing with me when you mentioned Marathon or were you really there?”

“Really there.”

"That's mind-boggling. I mean, I got the impression that you were old, but two and a half thousand years is so far beyond my comprehension, I don't really know what to do with that."

“There comes a point, where more time doesn’t really make that much of a difference anymore, so don’t worry about it.”

"I'll try. I'm not good at not worrying though. As for our personal relationship… can we take that slowly? I feel ridiculously attracted to you, and part of me wants to drag you into the bedroom next door. But I'm also fascinated by you in a way that I don't want this to be another one-night-stand. I'm not sure what I want, but friendship sounds wonderful. I don't have that many friends, and I trust you more than most, despite all the details about you you're not telling me. I need to figure out how to balance what I want, what this could be."

"Okay," Methos agreed. "Just for the record, I wouldn't be at all averse to being dragged into your bedroom, but you're also one of the few people I really enjoy talking to, so more than just sex has a lot of appeal. Let's focus on the professional side for now and keep in touch. If we go to India together, we'll have plenty of time to figure out the personal side as well."

Rupert nodded slowly but looked at him with a sense of longing.

"I think, I'll better go or we'll end up in your bedroom after all. But maybe one little taste for the two of us to remember." He closed the small gap between them and leaned forward slowly, giving Rupert all the chances to stop him. When instead the man closed his eyes and opened his lips ever so slightly, Methos followed the invitation and pressed a kiss against Rupert's lips. He'd planned to keep it on the chaste side, but Rupert was having none of that. Strong fingers slipped around the back of Methos' head and pulled him closer. A tongue teased along his lips asking for entrance, and he didn't have it in him to deny it, wanting it too much.

When they broke apart, they were both panting, and Methos was straddling Rupert's thighs on the narrow sofa.

“Okay. Wow. I definitely need to go if you don’t want to fuck tonight.”

"I… I still think it's better, but I hate myself for it a little," Rupert said with a frown.

“Don’t,” Methos ran his thumb over Rupert’s forehead. “You’ll get wrinkles.”

“Arsehole,” Rupert shoved at him with a laugh. “Get lost.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Into the jungle.

**Still 1983**

 

Sharing a tent in the subtropical jungle wasn’t half as much fun as it sounded.

“Goodness me, I’m too hot,” Rupert groaned as he dropped down on his cot after he finished setting it up.

“Yeah, sadly not just the fun type,” Methos said and followed his example.

“Stop it.” Looking over, Methos found it astounding that Rupert still managed to blush even in the heat they were already suffering. He also thought it was cute but kept that thought to himself.

“I’ll be more than happy when we actually find something and can at least stay in one place. Lugging all our gear around day in and day out is rather exhausting.”

“Agreed, that kind of thing stays annoying no matter the century.” He had to lower his voice towards the end, not wanting to risk being overheard. “The lack of privacy also sucks.”

“Your language is atrocious for someone with your level of education,” Rupert mock complained.

"I've found that intelligent people swear more. You should have heard Cicero when he got really mad. He could curse like the worst fishmonger."

Rupert started to chuckle and then progressed into all-out laughter. "Thanks, I needed that. Shall we see how dinner is looking?"

"We better, before someone decides to get adventurous again and adds something poisonous because ‘it looked interesting'." Methos shuddered as on their third evening a naive student on dinner duty had almost poisoned them all. The local guides they had hired for the first part of the trip had been cooking their own food all along, so they hadn't noticed and it was only due to Methos experience with the area and its flora that they had all been saved the puking, even if it meant dumping the almost finished dinner. At least everyone had taken the lesson to heart, and nobody had tried any more experiments of the culinary variety.

Half an hour later, they were all sitting around the fire with their ravioli in hand and discussed the plans for the next day while they ate.

"According to all the reports we collected, we should be entering the general area of the temple tomorrow," Prof Mühlbach, the expedition leader announced. "At this point, it is anybody's guess if we will find the changes in the environment that we find in the description, or if that's an expression of superstition, or whatever effect caused them could have dissipated over time. Either way, because apparently, nobody has gone into this area for centuries, we have little indications for where to look and will have to establish a search grid."

“How exactly will that go?” one of the small group of students asked.

"We will decide on a location for our camp, lay out the grid and explore the sectors in teams of three. If we can find a high spot to get an overview of the land, that would be beneficial, but we have to be prepared to do it methodically on the ground."

“At least we won’t have to carry our whole gear all the time anymore,” Rupert added when some groans erupted among students. Any illusions they’d had about an adventurous summer holiday with extra credit had been squashed just days into their trip.

"Exactly," Mühlbach agreed. "Everyone, get an early night so we can break camp with first daylight. We might be able to find our more permanent campsite before the worst of the heat that way."

The group broke up into smaller conversations after that with the students mostly talking among themselves.

It was Methos and Rupert’s turn to do the dishes, which afforded them with a chance to talk a bit more privately without arousing suspicions.

“How well do you remember the location of the temple?” Rupert asked.

"There are a few landmarks that I hope will still be there. If so, I should be able to find it easily enough. I'll be sure to get involved in the distribution of the teams to the grid and get us in the right direction."

"I think we have established fairly well that we team up on tasks, so I don't expect that to be an issue, but we should try to get one of the less obnoxious students added as our third. We'll have to take one along anyway."

“Yes. I think Peters wouldn’t be too bad. She’s here out of honest interest and had little illusions about the reality of such an expedition,” Methos mused.

"She also has a crush on you," Rupert answered, and Methos was surprised by the sharpness in his tone.

“Are you jealous? You know you have no reason to, right?”

“I… it isn’t like we settled anything in that regard. I can’t exactly make any demands on you.”

“I agreed to give you time. In my book that also means to wait, at least a reasonable amount of time. And I’m pretty sure half the people on this expedition thinks I brought you in on it because we’re lovers. I’m almost surprised there haven’t been any remarks.”

Rupert’s shocked expression made Methos laugh. “Don’t worry, your virtue is still safe with me.”

"My virtue hasn't been safe with you for eight years!" He splashed water at Methos, and they got distracted from their task until somebody else came looking for them. And it had to be Marie Peters, of course.

“Two cute guys in wet shirts and none of them is for me,” she sighed theatrically. “I guess I can at least enjoy the view for a moment. Or do you two want privacy?”

“I’m not sure that’s appropriate.” Rupert got up flustered by her words.

Methos couldn't help but smile. "No, thank you. We were just finishing up. That stack over there is done if you don't mind taking it back. It would save us a trip."

“Sure thing, Dr Floros,” she said with an easy smile and wistful glance over his torso, before leaving them behind.

Methos waited until she was out of earshot. “I guess she can handle her crush well enough to have her work with us.”

“Clearly,” Rupert said after clearing his throat. “Do you really not mind that people assume we’re together?”

“I stopped caring about other people’s opinion on such matters a long time ago. Attitudes change so rapidly, I can’t see them as anything but insubstantial. That doesn’t mean that I’m not careful about what and whom I tell, especially if it could put a partner in danger. I’ve known these people long enough to know that there is no blatant homophobia among them.” He stepped into Rupert’s personal space so he could whisper the next words. “And for any trouble somebody might want to raise, I do have my sword with me.” The shudder that caused in Rupert was an intriguing reaction he’d wished he could explore here and now.

“Ehm, let’s go back before the girl has too much of a chance to gossip,” Rupert said and gathered up most of the clean dishes. Methos collected the rest with a sigh and followed him through the trees back to their camp for the night. Nobody had said he couldn’t enjoy the view Rupert’s backside offered.

 

* * *

 

 

There had been little doubt about them having found the right area of the jungle the next day when everything around them had fallen eerily silent just like all the reports said.

One of the students had climbed up one of the larger trees to see if there was any significant highspot for them to take advantage of, but no such luck. They had therefore started the tedious work of searching the area systematically on the ground and four days in, the less experienced people were getting frustrated. The weird atmosphere filling the jungle all around them wasn't helping either, and Methos had a feeling that it would be getting to some expedition members sooner rather than later.

Methos was confident that he had snatched them the correct quadrant as the odd feeling was getting heavier as they searched. If it were just him and Rupert, he might have just followed his gut and sped up the search that way, but they had to lead by example for the new generation, and they both were responsible teachers in that regard.

The advantage was that young Marie had started a not so subtle campaign of getting him and Rupert to act on their ‘repressed feelings’ and it gave him ample opportunity for teasing touches, compliments and verbal teasing. Just the day before, Rupert had caved and shot some comments of his own back at him and hadn’t fought it when Marie had sent him stumbling into Methos’ arms. Progress was definitely being made.

“What’s that?” Marie asked, pointing ahead to a gap in the foliage off to the side.

“That looks an awful lot like stone,” Rupert answered her and started to find a path they could slip through. “I think, you just found us the Temple of Djinasaam, Miss Peters.”

“Congratulations, well spotted,” Methos added, making her proud smile even broader.

“Wow. This looks smaller than I expected to be honest. But these patterns are so intricate.” She pointed at a section of wall that wasn’t entirely covered by plants.

“The temple isn’t particularly large, which was to be expected given the small community that built it, but the sight is a bit misleading as the overgrowth conceals its true shape and size,” Methos explained as they unpacked the camera equipment for the initial documentation. He handed that off to Rupert, giving Marie a few more minutes to take it all in, while he took the radio himself.

“Professor Mühlbach, Marie just earned herself an extra ration of chocolate. She found the temple.” The stunned silence followed by cheering spoke of the relief everyone felt.

_“Excellent! That’s fantastic! What’s your exact position?”_ Mühlbach’s voice came over the radio.

Methos told him the quadrant they were in and which markers they had placed to follow and then joined the other two in their inspection of the ruins.

“It looks to be in much better condition than I had expected after all this time,” Marie observed.

“You’re right. With this many plants, we’d expect them to have chipped away more of the structure. One for our list of questions. Still, be careful where you set your feet and don’t trust any structure to take your weight. Not all damage is always visible,” Methos cautioned her.

“Will do, Dr Floros,” she said with a serious face that made him believe her. As lighthearted as she was by nature, she was more mature than a lot of her classmates. She then went back to taking notes and shadowing Rupert as he filmed the outside of the temple.

Methos grabbed a bunch of their markers and started setting up reference points for further documentation.

It took the group closest to them a good half hour to reach them and almost two hours until the whole expedition had reached their position and was standing in front of the temple in awe. It was actually difficult to determine which side was the front of the building as the hexagonal shape was identical on all sights, each having an access point.

“Well then,” Mühlbach clapped his hands and rubbed them industriously. “We’ve got plenty of work to do. Anyone saw a good spot to move our camp nearer?”

The quadrant next to theirs had a clearing close to a water stream, and it was quickly decided that they would re-establish the camp there the next morning and focus today on their new and shiny find. Nobody had the mindset really to deal with camp logistics today when faced with the object of their curiosity.

Thankfully, Mühlbach was a systematical worker and didn’t let anyone charge ahead into the temple, insisting on a thorough inspection of the outside first to see if there were any warnings or other indications of traps or other dangers.

Methos joined Rupert off to the side, supposedly checking their initial video material. “Is it just me or does the energy feel ready to burst?” He asked as quietly as he could.

"Not just you. It's making my hairs stand up how eager and dark it feels. It's astonishing that the seal held under this kind of pressure for as long as it did, but now, with people running all over the place, I'm afraid it's only a question of time until the demon breaks free."

"And do you still think that the ritual you found will work to destroy it?" It wasn't that Methos didn't trust Rupert's research, but he'd had to deal with a lot of unknown variables and those plans didn't always hold up.

“Yes, actually. Now that I’ve felt its presence, I’m certain that it is what we mostly know by the Irish name of _dorchadas_. I've never heard of one this close to the equator but I've been confronted with a much weaker one before, and I recognise the feeling. The ritual will work just as designed and banish it completely. It's just…"

“What? Any worries you have, we should definitely talk about,” Methos insisted.

"The ritual is exhausting for the conduit to the point that people have fallen into a coma-like sleep for days afterwards and that was with weaker demons. I'm not at all surprised that Djinasaam died in his attempt to fight this one and only managed to hold it back. The set up he chose to channel his energy isn't quite as effective as what we've come up with in the meantime. It's still an astonishing feat, and I'm excited to see it with my own eyes."

“Spit it out, Rupert, what exactly are you worrying about?” Methos had an inkling but wanted to hear it to be sure he wasn’t missing anything.

“Are you still willing to act as the conduit? I mean, I have no reference for how magical deaths affect Immortals.”

"I do," he said without any further explanation. "And I'm sure I'll be fine, maybe gone half an hour or so. So to answer your question, yes, I'm still absolutely willing to act as the conduit, and I don't think it should be anybody else. In case it doesn't go well, I've lived a good long time, and while I'd love to continue on further, I wouldn't allow someone else to risk this kind of sacrifice, most especially not you." He gave Rupert a stern look, hoping to quell all protest. "I have the best chances of survival, and that's the end of that discussion."

Rupert took a deep breath and let it out slowly, worry still dancing in his eyes. "We should probably do it tonight before anybody else breaches the inside."

“Is it wise to fight a dorchadas while it’s dark?”

“It’s not ideal, no. But if everything goes as planned, it shouldn’t matter as it won’t have a chance to take advantage of it. And it isn’t like we’ll get an opportunity to have the place undisturbed during daylight any time soon.”

"There's that. Okay then, a nightly trip to ban a demon it is. Sounds like fun!" That earned Methos the evil eye, but he wouldn't apologise for his optimism. He did have faith in Rupert's skills.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Those who fight together, stay together.

**Still 1983**

 

Dinner that night had been a lively affair and had lasted later than normal, fueled by the excitement of their find and planning for the next days and weeks of work. More than one person had been dreaming up the papers they could write and friendly bickering had ensued when colleagues had similar ideas.

Methos and Rupert had joined in to keep up the pretence but had silently been pleading for everyone to go to bed so they could tackle the long track back to the temple and make sure it was safe for the eager explorers.

Eventually, Mühlbach put his foot down about their need for sleep and the necessity of packing up and moving the camp first thing in the morning and people had slowly scattered into their respective tents.

The two of them had waited until all lights had been out for a while and whispering voices had made room to snoring.

Sneaking out without making any noise was still tricky in the oddly silent forest, but it helped that they had cleared a few paths away from the camp over the last few days. They walked in silence for quite a while, Methos leading the way.

“How long?” Rupert eventually asked into the silence.

“How long what?” Methos asked back over his shoulder.

His hand was snatched, and Rupert pulled him around and to a stop, not that they could see an awful lot with only two small torches and what little moonlight made it through the canopy.

“How long have you been alive? Who are you really? You’ve said enough for me to know that you are one of the older Immortals still around but… If I am to risk your life, don’t I deserve to know the truth?”

"Why do you want to know? So that you can update the archives? Or is this for you?" There was no malice in his question, but Methos needed to know where Rupert was coming from with this.

"I… I know that you've managed to evade the Watchers, so there probably aren't any current records on you anyway, which will most likely mean they believe you already dead. I don't really care about that. But… if you're that old, there must be someone who knows and should know what happened to you. I can't imagine how many stories you could tell. You've probably forgotten more than most even of your kind will ever know. I can't carry all those stories for you, but I can at least make sure the end of your story is passed on correctly."

"I get being prepared for the worst case, but stop being so pessimistic. You sound like you signed my death warrant. Trust me, I'm not that easy to get rid off."

“I don’t want to be rid off you. I don’t think I’d _ever_ want to be rid off you. I… I’ve come to enjoy the idea of having you in my life and the thought that tonight might go horribly wrong scares me,” Rupert admitted.

And Methos started to understand where the younger man was coming from. He tangled his torch into some vines hanging down the next tree and used his now free hands to cradle Rupert’s face.

"Your timing is rather awkward, but trust me and trust yourself. This will work out, and I'm made of much sterner stuff than a boring dorchadas demon.” He kissed Rupert and found his lips pliable under his own. He pressed Rupert into the nearest tree trunk and felt arms wrap around his back, holding him close. The kiss was passionate and desperate and a promise all at the same time.

He had no idea how long it took until they broke apart and when they did, he stayed as close as Rupert had pulled him and looked him deep in the eyes. "The first name I remember is Methos, and I am over five thousand years old. I am the oldest Immortal still alive."

Rupert's breath hitched, but he didn't say anything for long minutes.

"I want to say that that's impossible, but I don't think you're lying to me. Wow. I have no idea what to do with that."

"Nothing. I'm still the same guy I was half an hour ago. You just know a little more about me, doesn't really change anything. I've gone to great lengths to become invisible to both the Watchers and more importantly, other Immortals. I don't believe in the game and try not to participate, but the easiest way to avoid that craziness is to make sure nobody is hunting for me. And trust me, everyone comes hunting after the oldest. I'm good, but sooner or later one would catch me off guard. Anonymity is key, and I like the life I'm living. I'd like it even better if you were a permanent part of it."

“Okay.”

“Does that mean you’re okay with mostly ignoring my true identity or okay to us taking a shot at this relationship thing?”

"Yes, both." Rupert leaned forward to press their lips together again. "I still find it quite unbelievable that the man in my arms is the oldest person alive but I definitely don't want to let you go, nor would I do anything to risk you. Well, nothing more stupid than what we are about to do."

“That’s the spirit,” Methos agreed with another kiss.

"I'm not quite sure why you want me, but I'm selfish enough not to care. Can I call you Methos? When it's just the two of us, I mean? Calling you different names all the time feels odd, even when I had no choice cause the fake ones were all I had."

“I’d like that.”

Rupert buried his face in the crook of Methos neck and just breathed for a few moments, and Methos held him close and gave him the time to let it all sink in.

"Okay, let's get this over with," Rupert said as he straightened again and ran a hand over his face. He picked up his own torch where he had dropped it and handed Methos his back from the vines, and they continued on along the narrow paths, but now with fingers loosely entwined.

Once they reached the temple, Methos helped Rupert clear out what little debris had made it into the chamber. The magic of the seal kept the place preserved almost as if frozen in time, including, somewhat macabre, the skeleton of Djinasaam at its very centre.

Rupert checked what exactly the long-dead hero had done centuries ago to make sure their new ritual wouldn't be disturbed by the ancient magic still lingering. Methos left him to his notebook and sketches and took a closer look at the pictures along the walls that had been added after the fact. He had known the people who did this and remembered the care they'd taken to honour the memory of the one who sacrificed himself for them. The pictures and writing on the walls spoke of that sacrifice, and he already prepared mentally for what he and his colleagues would make of it. It was always an odd position to research a past he remembered, but this felt long ago, even by his standards, and he knew he was a very different man now.

“I’m ready. I’ve actually adapted the standard ritual to tie into what’s already here. My theory is that Djinasaam’s lingering sacrifice will add power to what we’re doing tonight and that can only help us.”

Methos nodded his agreement. His connection to such powers wasn't nearly as strong or finely developed as Rupert's, but even he could feel the desire to protect still weaving around them.

"It means that we can't move him." Rupert looked over to the skeleton on the ground, and for all his cynicism when it came to death, Methos appreciated that Rupert didn't say _it_.

"I don't mind getting up close to him if that's your concern. I wonder what the others will make of the fact that he was never buried, but that's a worry for tomorrow. Let's make sure our dear colleagues can work here unthreatened and maybe life will return to this part of the jungle as well."

"Okay." Rupert pulled him into the centre of the seal on the floor, and the energy started to churn around them. Methos was about to kneel down when Rupert stopped him and after a moment's hesitation pressed a kiss against his lips. "I'd prefer if you didn't die on me, but if you have to, you better come back to me."

“Best incentive I’ve ever had. And I promise. I’ve survived worse.”

He settled onto his knees, and Rupert took his place just at the edge of the seal, starting to chant. Methos could feel the magic flow through him and gather as the darkness from underneath grew more and more prominent. He fully understood why Djinasaam had described it as a hunger. He directed his focus inward, but on the edge of his perception, he could see Rupert moving around the seal, activating the six gems that formed the corners of the hexagon until their glow filled the chamber.

Then, suddenly, the hunger became all encompassing and tried to devour him but at the same time a wave of positive energy burned through him and pushed the hunger and darkness down, further down and away. He could feel the darkness fight back and gave everything he had to the magic running through him. It was filled with protectiveness, and he added to that, focusing on Rupert. He couldn't fail at this, or his lover would be the first victim of this demon. And as he thought of Rupert, something else bloomed inside of him and joined the wave fighting the darkness. It took Methos a moment to recognise it was love. The thought made him smile at Rupert, and he felt the hunger snap away below, banned from their world for good. And Methos sank into a cold, more familiar darkness.

 

* * *

 

 

Methos woke up with a gasp but much more comfortable than he’d expected. It took only moments to recognise that his head and shoulder were resting on somebody’s lap and that soothing fingers were carding through his hair.

He opened his eyes and found Rupert’s worried eyes above him.

“Hey there. I could get used to waking up like this. Makes dying less uncomfortable.”

The snort he got in response had a desperate edge to it. "I'd rather not make this a regular occurrence. You were gone a long time, and it's strange to see you like that. I'm not sure if it was worse because I couldn't be sure if you'd really wake up again or if I will always feel that way. I'd rather you don't die in front of me if avoidable."

“I’ll do my best.” He sat up with a groan.

“Are you okay?” Rupert asked.

"Yeah, just a little sore. Nobody knows if the pain from a death physically lingers or if that's more psychosomatic. I knew a Buddhist monk a few centuries ago who had some fascinating thoughts on the matter. But either way, it passes quickly. I'm fine. Are you okay?"

"Yes. I mean, all that magical power is a rush but seeing you collapse to the ground like that was quite sobering. The ritual worked just fine, and I can find no lingering threat from the demon beyond the residual traces in the ground from his long presence here, and those will dissipate soon enough."

“Come here,” Methos interrupted Rupert’s lecture before it could get started in earnest and kissed him instead. It was tender and soothing but no less filled with emotions. “Better?”

"Yes. I'm keeping you just so you know."

“I think I’d rather like that.” And for the first time in many, many decades, he actually meant that. “Want to go back to the camp and see if we can get at least some snuggling in before we need to get up?”

"I don't think our chances are all that good, but I'd love some tea if nothing else," Rupert said with a wry smile.

Methos twisted Rupert's wrist so he could see his watch and had to agree. Their nightly adventure had taken longer than hoped, and they still had a long walk ahead of them. A walk they interrupted with more than one snogging session, and neither was at all ashamed of it.

When they finally reached the camp, morning was already dawning, and because that was just their luck, Marie was up and heating water over the merrily going fire.

“I guess I do not want to ask what you two were up to in the forest. I like my good grades,” she held up her hands in a placating gesture. “But can I leave out any details and claim the pool?”

“Which pool?” Rupert asked bewildered.

"There's a betting pool on when you two would finally cave, and looks like I got it right!" A pleased smile lit up her face, and her eyes were twinkling with such happiness, more for them than her winnings, that Methos couldn't help but laugh.

"Tell you what, you make sure some of that water is turned into a really good cuppa by the time we have changed, and we back up your story to claim the pool."


End file.
